


The Weaver: An Ionian Tale

by Tareliah



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Cliffhanger, Gen, Ionia - Freeform, Minor Violence, Order of the Shadow, Xayah gets injured by a plant, expect a new chapter at least once every 10 days
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-06-19 03:37:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15501474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tareliah/pseuds/Tareliah
Summary: The stories of four Ionians intertwine in unlikely circumstances - Irelia continues her journey of closure after the war. - Akali comes to terms with her own flaws. - In the distance, Xayah and Rakan travel to a mysterious valley to find the source of corrupting magic.  -  The one thing that they all share in common? An encounter with an ethereal pond that leaves them with permanent dark stains around their eyes. - A plot heavy, lore-expanding story that's being updated regularly. Twists and turns lie ahead! Stay tuned!





	1. The Face

Xayah could still smell the putrid stench of blood in the air. It had been years since the war had ended, yet the stench persisted. Arms folded, eyes focused, Xayah trailed behind Rakan, scanning the dense forest around them. Her mind was elsewhere. Ever since the invasion, there had been a feeling at the back of her mind that maybe the Noxians were just the beginning. Perhaps the land still hungered for more bloodshed. She knew she did. Today, that feeling was especially strong, nagging at her constantly. Rakan glanced back, and noticed her slowing pace.

“You’ve got the face again,” He said with a smirk.

Xayah rolled her eyes with playful annoyance, “Pfft, what face?”

Rakan slowed down to match her pace, walking alongside her. “Oh, you know,” he said, smirk widening into a grin. “The face.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Xayah said.

The yellow peacock gestured wildly, framing his face with his palms. “Cmon, you know the face. It’s the one you make when you’re thinking too hard,” He explained.

“Well if I didn’t have to think for the both of us, maybe I wouldn’t be making the face,” Xayah sneered cheerfully.

Rakan play gasped. “Hm. You should try not thinking. It’s pretty fun,” He said, skipping ahead of her once again.

“It’s all fun and games until someone gets a shuriken to skull, Rakan.” Xayah called from behind. 

She sighed. It really was tough work having to think for Rakan, but it was worth the extra energy. Rakan just wasn’t Rakan without his… impulsivity.

As they walked, the forest around them began to thin, and the leaves became more and more wilted. They were on their way to the Yondlu Valley, just north of Navori, to investigate the high concentration of corrupting magic in the area. Normally, Xayah would avoid being so close to Navori, with its dense population of humans, but she had vowed to revive her land years before, and wasn’t planning on breaking promises any time soon. 

Rakan looked back at her again. 

“Let’s get some rest. The sun's setting. We'll get there tomorrow,” He said.

Xayah shook her head. “You clearly have plenty of energy. We can muster a few more paces,” She responded, placing her hand firmly at her hips. 

Rakan shook his head and chuckled, “No. I think you need the rest. You’re eyes are dark. Cmon, sit. I will find a place to sleep.”

“But-,” Xayah protested. 

“Shhh. Don’t worry,” He said, “We need all the energy we can get as we approach the spooky magic.”

Xayah silently acquiesced. She knew he was right, but inside, she was still fuming. Something inside her was pulling her into the valley. It was as if a thread had connected her to the place ever since she was born, but only now did she feel it tugging at her heel. It was silly, really. Xayah had never even been to Yondlu, only heard of it in human folktales. They said it was a paradise, hidden between two towering mountains. If only they could see it now, presumably leveled by their human brethren’s insidious use of magic. Tragic.

Her heart sank a bit the moment Rakan left to find shelter. She couldn’t stand being without him, even if for a moment. He filled a void within her that she hadn’t known was there. Her heartfire. 

Looking up again, Xayah continued scanning the area, but the corruption dulled her senses. She could barely see a few paces into the dark without squinting. 

“Alright, darling!” Rakan called from behind a large tree. “I think I found us one sweet crib.”

Xayah rolled her eyes.

“Xayah?” He said. “You there? Xayah?”

“Okay fine,” she answered, amused at his cluelessness. 

The other side of the tree trunk was a sight to behold. Rakan bowed in arrogance as Xayah took in their new roost. 

He had plucked out his own feathers and enchanted them to glow, hanging them from a few branches above. Below, the base of the tree trunk, which had previously housed a Beast-toothed Wood Snout, was hollowed out, a perfect place to lay down for the night. Who knows, maybe it was good for a little something else. Rakan had used dried grasses and some of his own feathers to cushion the bottom of the nest. And to finish it off, he had carved a heart in the weathered wood above it. 

How he did this so fast, Xayah had no idea, but she swooned nevertheless. 

“You’re adorable,” She said.

Rakan finally raised his head from his bow. “Oh, I know.”

As the two of them sank into the soft hollow, Rakan swiftly maneuvered his cloak to wrap around her as he peered into her deep, honeygold eyes, leaning in for a kiss, but suddenly, he stopped, his face hovering just above hers.

“Something’s up. What’s wrong?” Rakan asked, his head tilting ever-so-slightly.

“What?” Xayah said, flustered. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m ready to… you know,” Xayah paused. “Get down?”

Rakan smirked and unfurled himself from her, laying down next to his lover. “No. You aren’t,” He said firmly, before his eyes lit up with a realization. “You’ve got the face again, don’t you!” He accused playfully.

“Yeah… I’ve got the face again,” Xayah admitted with exasperation, sinking further into the the grass and feathers beneath them.

Rakan tensed up a bit. Xayah never admitted to having the face. Ever. Xayah could tell by the change in his breathing that he had caught on to her uncharacteristic behavior. He was worried. 

“Miella,” He said. He paused for a short moment before leading her to another subject. “Aren’t the stars beautiful tonight?”

Xayah’s eyes drifted to the skies. He was right. Even from one of the most corrupted and broken places she had ever been, she could still see the beauty of the heavens. The stars, scattered between the clouds like paint strokes, seemed to pulsate with light and energy. There was only one other time she saw a night sky as bright as this.

“It reminds me of Aphea Falls,” She whispered. 

“Those were better days,” Rakan said wistfully.

Xayah shook her head. “Were they? Just think of all of the tragedies surrounding those moments back then. We exchanged vows in a…” Xayah paused, finding her words. “We exchanged our vows at Aphea, in a deep, deep valley between two towering mounds of bloodshed and death.”

“Wait what do you-”

“How did I let myself be happy? I’m so numb to death that it didn’t even matter,” Xayah said through silent tears. She didn't know why she was suddenly so worked up. Her inner voice felt garbled and unsure. 

Rakan sighed. “You don’t need to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, my Wu`ta.”

Xayah began to protest but Rakan interrupted her, “Just stop thinking for a moment and look at the stars. Tell me they don’t make you happy. I mean look at ‘em! It doesn’t matter who-knows-how-many bodies lie in our past and what dangers stands in our future, sometimes happiness doesn’t need to be justified.”

Xayah chuckled. Rakan was never this deep. Or maybe he was.

Maybe they were both acting weird.

“Maybe,” She said, her eyes still glued to the stars. The rhythm of their light entranced her, making Xayah feel as if she were woven to something much bigger. Something that had been waiting, hiding for millenia. 

Shhk!

Both vatsaya jumped. Slowly, Xayah looked up from her spot in the hollow. Inches from the top of her head, a shuriken was now wedged into the thick tree bark behind her. Rakan noticed it too, panic rising within both of them.

Xayah elbowed him. “Rakan!” She hissed, “The lights!”

“Oh,” Rakan said. “Riggght.”

With a flick of his hand, the glowing essence returned to him from his enchanted feathers that hung above. The two lovebirds were plunged into darkness. All Xayah could see were red, glowing eyes, at least twenty paces away, intently watching them. She recognized them instantly. It was the Order of the Shadow. Maybe they were behind all of this.

Rakan gasped quietly. “There’s gotta be like twenty of them,” He said, puffing out his feathers. “I didn’t know we were worth so many soldiers.”

“Maybe they learned a thing or two from last time,” Xayah said, carefully plucking some of her feathers and gathering them in her hand, fanning them out like a deck of cards. She could only hope the odds were in their favor.

Shhk!

Another Shuriken landed just beside Rakan.

“We need to find better cover,” Rakan said. “Are we running or fighting, m’lady?”

Xayah squinted her eyes. “Fighting.”

The two darted behind another nearby tree, out of sight, giving Xayah time to formulate.

Peeking out from behind the thick wood, Rakan became even more anxious. He always got so giddy during the worst times. 

“What’s the plan?”

“Oh… The plan?” Xayah asked.

“You always have a plan. Always.”

“Uh,” Xayah hesitated. She knew they were outnumbered. She also knew that Rakan’s usual tricks wouldn’t work this time, since the soldiers were too close together. It was too easy to get caught. They’d have to get creative. “We’re outnumbered… So the only way we’re getting out of this is if we lead them into a trap.”

“A Trap?” Rakan said, tapping his talons with anticipation. “Okay I’ll distract them!” 

Rakan began dashing out from their spot behind the tree, but Xayah held him back.

“No,” She said. “This time I’m doing the distracting. Here, take these.” Xayah held out her hands, in them were at least 3 dozen feathers that she had plucked.

“Woah,” Whispered Rakan. “That’s a lot of feathers.”

Xayah nodded. “I’m going to need you to sneak-”

Rakan gasped, “Sneak? Me? I do not sneak.”

Xayah rolled her eyes once again, “Well you’re going to. Just get behind them, on the opposite side of the soldiers. While I distract them, you will stick the feathers in the mud in a line.”

Rakan was practically shaking with anticipation. “And then I punch them?”

“No, you get me into position to catch our prey. And then I pluck out all of their eyes and eat them like blueberries.”

Before Xayah could finish her twisted metaphor, Rakan was already off into the dark, twisting forest. He’d be back. 

Xayah crept through the vines until she could make out the Soldiers of the Order lying in wait, just a few paces away. They were gathered in a small clearing, crouching behind bushes. She could just make out their whispers.

“Where’d they go?” One asked.

“They can’t be far,” said another, deeper voice. “The vastaya are bloodthirsty, they wouldn’t just run.”

He isn’t wrong, Xayah thought. Before she could listen in on more of their conversation, she spotted the glowing line of feathers Rakan was beginning to make behind them. So far, he wasn’t noticed. Time to distract. Quickly and silently, she climbed up to the treeline, peering down at the clearing.

“Hey. Eyes up here, stupid,” Xayah called. The soldiers turned in unison to look up at the trees. She heard more chatter, but couldn’t make any of it out. With a flick of her wrist, she sent two feather daggers into the group, she hit one, but also gave away her location.

“They came from there!” One soldier Called, pointing up towards her. Xayah flitted down to the mud without a sound, and began lurking away from where he had signaled. 

“The feathers! Break them!” Said the deeper voice. Two of the smaller soldiers scuttled to the glowing daggers and each pulled a feather from the mud, snapping them in half. Xayah could almost feel them break.

What? Xayah thought, They know me. Why else would they know not to leave the feathers behind them? Xayah was stunned. Maybe she had underestimated them, the humans. She didn’t know why she was so upset about two simple feathers, but something deep within her was stirring.

The humans approached the tree where she had been perched, peering into the dark. Xayah, still reeling, slowly stepped back, keeping her eyes on the soldiers’ red eyes floating in the darkness, searching for her up in the treeline. 

Suddenly, a loud snapping sound rang out through the forest. Pain fanned out from Xayah’s leg, and the feeling of warm blood ran down her ankle to her talons.

“Shit!” She exclaimed. A thornbrush had caught on her. The pain was unbearable.

But more importantly, each and every one of the scarlet eyes turned to stare directly at her. 

“Oh.”


	2. A Step in the Right Direction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irelia, greeted by the soul of her O-ma, must come to terms with her past decisions, unaware of the dangers that lie ahead.

The rhythm of the night was not synced up with Irelia. Her sleep had been irregular for the past moon, and she had come to accept the daily sunrise as an end to her foolish attempt at rest. Every night, the stars seemed to urge her to stay awake just a little bit longer. The campsite no longer felt welcome, with the people’s expectations leaving Irelia gasping for air. Her mind confused the calls of nearby drunks for battle cries, and twisted the sound of the soft breeze into the vibrations of war drums, causing her to jump to a defensive stance, her blades tumbling into the air, out of their leather carrying satchel. 

Tonight, it was not nearby drinkers or the wind that kept her awake. It was a mysterious voice, a familiar voice that, although quiet and fragile, carried through the wind with strength. Who is that? She thought, more devotees of the Brotherhood, conversing in the nearby woods? Or maybe it was just refugees, attracted by the pillars of smoke and the smells of fresh food emanating from the camp. She held her breath, hoping to discern more of the mysterious voice. After a couple of seconds, it’s sing-songy tone materialized once again.

“Step one, two, three, and four. Breathe. In through your nose, child. Now try again, step one, two…” the voice trailed off again. Irelia, still deep in a stupor of insomnia, recognized the words, the tone, the way syllables meshed into one another, weaving an intricate song of pitch and lyric. Irelia finally released her breath, 

“O-ma?”

No response. She ducked her head under and out of her tent, blades levitating behind her like a loose thread. 

“O-ma?” She repeated. “O-ma is that you?”

As her eyes adjusted to the dim glow of nearby fires, she turned to the forest, holding her breath again, hoping to catch another word on the wind. 

“Yes! Perfect, my I-Gai, one day you will dance for all of Ionia… Yes, dear, I know, I know, and they will all watch and cheer,” the voice said, words drifting through the breeze like a morning fog.

Irelia sighed. It was gone again. She must be going crazy, she thought, she couldn’t possibly believe the voice of her O-ma would dare dance over these blood-stained lands. Her exhaustion was playing tricks on her, or maybe she had too much ale with supper. Old Teacher Raig was not known for a light brew. Nevertheless, after another pause, Irelia resolved to go back into her tent. As she turned to reach for the ruff canvas, she spotted a glowing figure out of her right eye, sitting on a wooden bench at the edge of the campsite, next to a dying fire.

“Yes,” Irelia whispered. “It must have been the ale.”

Despite her doubts, she decided to humor the hallucination, walking across the clearing to the abandoned common area. As she approached it, the apparition turned to face her. O-ma’s round, caring face rested on a woven prayer shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her right hand braced against the outline of a wooden cane, and although her eyes were no longer tangible, they glinted from the light of the dim embers that were nestled in the nearby fire pit. 

“Sit, Xan Irelia,” O-ma said, her translucent form greeting Irelia with a warm, but stern smile.

Irelia couldn’t find any words, as a tear formed in the corned of her eye. O-ma patted the empty space on the log next to her, 

“You look tired. Come,” O-ma continued. “but you can leave those.”

Her frail hand gestured towards the blades hovering like a tail below Irelia’s hips. Irelia acquiesced, lowering the shards to the damp grass, and sat next to her grandmother. 

“Your eyes, Irey, they are darkened with burden,” O-ma remarked. “Why?”

Irelia’s posture sagged a little, her knees leaning into one-another.

“I have done terrible things, O-ma, I have stained these lands with the blood of others. The people here, they look up to me. They expect me to lead them into more war and more blood and more pain. I know someone needs to, but I don’t want them to be me. I don’t want to disappoint you any more than I already have.”

O-ma sighed, “You are my granddaughter, my little sakura dancer. You have always had angry feet, and that is what made you so special. You could never disappoint me.”

Irelia tensed her muscles with frustration, the blades nearby beginning to vibrate in irregular rhythms. 

“But that shouldn’t change how I-,”

“Ah, ah ah. No, “ O-ma interjected. “What did I always tell you to do when you were angry or sad? Dance. Dance away, because the weight of your burdens means nothing when your feet are as light as air. Do you remember that? When was the last time you danced, Irey?”

Irelia looked down, shaking her head as she wracked her memories for more. “I…” she said, “I can’t remember… Maybe during the celebration of our victory at Dalu. I had a lot of wine that night, I must have gotten out my silks at least once. Yes. I remember now, I did.”

O-ma, despite her previous promises, seemed disappointed. 

“When was that?” she asked.

“Well, that was just a bit after the last noxian ship left Ionia, so, three years,” Irelia murmured.

“Three years,” O-ma whispered incredulessly. “Irey, Irey, Irey. That is much too long. Much, much, much too long to go without it… Did it feel good then? To dance?”

Irelia thought for a moment. “No…” She said, “I was drunk, afraid and… guilty. My steps felt heavy. Moving through the air was like swimming in molasses. It’s as if the war and my vengeance on Noxus were the only things keeping me from thinking about what I had done. Once it was over, I was drowning.”

O-ma seemed tired now as well. Her deep eyes searched for something to focus on. 

“Did I not teach you the ways of silk dance for your entire childhood?” She asked.

“Yes, of course O-ma.”

“Did I not send you to the placidium to learn more, from the very people responsible for keeping the tradition alive?”

“Yes, O-ma.”

“Why refuse these gifts, Gai Irey?” O-ma asked.

Irelia lashed out, standing up, blades surging to her shoulders at odd angles, 

“Because I don’t deserve them, O-ma!”

The old woman closed her eyes, and took a deep, deep breath, “Of course you do. What happened in the war does not trouble me. Your ancestors will never abandon you, and you will never abandon your roots.”

Irelia realised her wrongs and dropped to her knees, blades following her to the grass, resting on the dark soil around her. 

“I’m sorry. I forgot, I did abandon dance. Ever since I left you, I’ve been scared to do it alone. Please forgive me,” Irelia pleaded. 

O-ma brought her luminescent fingers to the side of her granddaughter’s face, wiping away the tears. 

“You did not forget. Get up, girl, you just need a refresher course,” O-ma commanded, heaving her frail body off of the bench. 

“What?” Irelia said, confused and reassured by her grandmother’s request. After a moment, she complied, once again rising to her feet. 

“We will start with the first dance I ever taught you, the moon rise dance,” O-ma said, gesturing for Irelia to step farther into the open field. 

“But I don’t have my silks, how can I-” Irelia said, before being interrupted her grandmother’s finger pressing against her lips.

“Ah, you will not need those tonight,” O-ma declared. With one swift movement of her arm, she willed a piece of energy around both of Irelia’s hands. “Now, step to your left, one, two, three and four…” O-ma willed, her voice beating a rhythm like a drum.

Irelia followed her commands with ease, remembering the times she struggled to keep her silks in the air as a young girl. As she skipped to her left, the energy connected to her hands extended out, creating flowing silks made of energy, flying behind her as she danced.

“Spin, step to the right, two, three and four. Now twirl and bring your hands high then low,” O-ma continued, chuckling as she too remembered the girl’s first encounter with silk dance. 

As Irelia kept dancing, more memories flooded her conscious. Like the time she accidentally tripped herself with her own silk. 

‘Do not force the silk to follow you,’ her O-ma had told her as she laid crying on the ground, ‘just dance and they will follow, whether you like it or not.’

“There you go, that’s my Irelia!” O-ma cheered her on, like she always had. 

O-ma had stopped her commands, but Irelia kept dancing, circling the smoldering embers of the fire pit with elegant, seamless spins and jumps. As she continued, she felt a rip within her mend, bringing two parts of her identity together. Eyes closed, Joy filled her feet as she leapt across the clearing, feet grasing the dew-covered grass beneath her. 

But suddenly, as she flew through the air, she heard something out of the ordinary. The sound of metal on metal, clanging through the quiet night. She hit the ground, the weight of her body leaving impressions on the dirt beneath her feet. Opening her eyes, she saw that, without realising it, she had commanded her blades to dance with her, following her silks as they arced through the cold air.

At the moment of realization, the shards fell to the ground. Irelia, joy once again drained from her eyes, lowered herself to the ground, surrounded by her lifeless blades, and nestling her head between her knees. 

“Irelia. You were dancing a dance of freedom. You were beautiful, what is wrong?” said O-ma, creeping up behind her granddaughter and lowering her hand to grasp her shoulder. Irelia kept her face hidden, wiping away silent tears.

“I can’t escape what I’ve done. I can’t…” Irelia said, sniffling.

“What, I-Gai?” O-ma asked.

“The blades follow me. They’re just reminders of all of the horrible things I’ve done. They are covered in all of the people I ruined, from every time I let a drop of blood stain these lands,” Irelia whispered. 

O-ma knelt down, and smiled, running her bony fingers through Irelia’s hair. She leaned into her ear, “You are just like your father, speaking only of the blood of those who you protected yourself from. Your blades may be covered in invisible blood, but you too are covered in many invisible scars. I see them, they glow on your skin like tattoos.”

Irelia looked up from the ground, and into O-ma’s eyes. As O-ma spoke, she began gathering each blade from the ground in her frail hands, one by one. 

“I have always worried about you, but not about what you have done, about what they have done to you… We are all a little broken,” O-ma gestured to the blades in her hand. “like these shards, what makes us beautiful is how we put the broken pieces back together.”

O-ma extended her hands towards Irelia, offering the blades back to her. Irelia hesitated, but begrudgingly took them in her arms. 

O-ma smiled, “You are no longer the granddaughter that I raised, but that is okay. You are the blade dancer, one of a kind. That is what makes you beautiful, and we could not be prouder of you, Xan Irelia.”

O-ma’s last words resonated on the wind as her silhouette faded away, leaving Irelia alone with her stained blades, glinting from the pale glow from the dying embers beside them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm going to go buy the new Irelia skin now.


	3. A Couple That Kills Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up a little before where chapter 1 left off, Rakan is tasked with setting Xayah's trap to catch some baddies. He can only hope everything goes to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you forgot, here's the current score tally: 
> 
> Xayah's leggy: 0 Thornbush: 1 
> 
> Can the two lovebirds make a comeback? All that and more on the newest installment of The Weaver.

Rakan was not known for sneaking. In fact, he was known for the opposite. He was supposed to be in the middle of battle, making a grand entrance, but he was also supposed to listen to Xayah. She came before everything, so just this once, he’d make an exception. 

But, oh, how it angered him that he couldn’t go punch those guys himself. He hated them, because they always wanted to hurt Xayah. Xayah hated them because they wanted to harvest Vastayans for their essence, or this, or that, or bla bla bla. That stuff didn’t make a difference in his eyes. 

If you hurt Xayah, you hurt Rakan, it’s just math. 

Quickly and giddily, he darted from tree to tree, maneuvering his way behind the soldiers who huddled in the clearing. Xayah’s feathers were surprisingly heavy in his hands, but he didn’t mind. Rakan made sure not to drop any as he knelt down to the damp earth and began setting the trap. He carefully placed each dagger into the mud, planted upright, like spikes. As the bases of the feather daggers connected with the earth, they began to glow, acting as conduits of the land’s dwindling magic. 

Rakan chuckled to himself. Just like Xayah, they were resilient. Sometimes Rakan wished that she’d learn to give up sometimes. 

After about 10 feathers down, he heard some commotion from the soldiers, and the familiar whistles of feathers flying through the air filled the night. Maybe Xayah wasn’t so bad at distracting after all. Rakan sped up his pace, and when he had placed down most of the feathers down, there was more commotion, and the sound of a branch snapping cut through the air, followed by a voice, shrieking with pain.

“Shit!”

It was Xayah. Rakan’s giddiness was replaced with fear and anger. He looked down at the few feathers remaining in his hands. He had planted all but three, but it would have to do. He placed the extra daggers into his pocket and began sprinting towards where he heard Xayah exclaim. 

The soldiers had heard, and were charging at her at full speed, away from the feather dagger trap he had so perfectly placed. Their plan was already falling apart. Rakan, about 5 paces behind them, had no hope of catching up on foot. He’d have to get creative. 

With one quick whoosh, he flew into the crowd of soldiers, and before they could react, magic ebbed out from Rakan’s cloak, coating the forest floor with glowing golden essence. After a moment, Rakan leaped upwards, urging the magic to fly with him, lifting all of the soldiers up off of the ground. He knew Xayah had told him not to, but it just felt right to be back in the thick of things. By the time the men reached the ground again, Rakan was gone, chasing after his lover. 

“Xayah?”

“Rakan!” Xayah said, wrapping her arms around him. “The feathers… You shouldn’t be here already.”

Rakan looked down. Blood was trickling from several small wounds on her leg. Noticing the soldiers catching up again, he swooped her up into his arms and began sprinting away.

Xayah weakly tapped his shoulder. “This is really cute and all, Rakan, but we can’t outrun them like this. We need to get back in position for the trap.”

Rakan sighed. He knew what that meant. He’d have to turn back, towards the soldiers again, and to the clearing.

“But what about-”

Xayah interrupted him. “No. It’s our best chance.”

“I don’t like the odds for this one, Xayah,” Rakan said, shaken by the sight of his lovers blood.

Xayah chuckled, “That’s what makes it fun.”

She was right, though, about the trap. She always was. Rakan began slowly leading the soldiers back to the clearing, running around them in an arc, sacrificing their lead. The closer he got to to the clearing, the more the gap closed between them and the red eyed masks chasing behind.

They were just barely in range of the trap, when Rakan felt something tug at his cloak, yanking him backwards. It was one of the soldiers, their general. Rakan recognized his mask, the man was pretty high in the Order of the Shadow’s hierarchy, and he had harbored a deep hatred for the Vastaya from the very beginning. His big metal gauntlets wrapped around Rakan’s feathers. Without even thinking, Rakan launched Xayah forward, out of his arms, but away from danger, for now. 

She landed with a loud thump, as another set of hands wrapped around Rakan’s neck. She slowly hobbled to a standing position, fresh daggers at the ready, trying to keep the Order at bay.

The general handed Rakan off to two of his guards and slowly approached Xayah, standing directly between the two lovebirds.

“Don’t move, Animal, or the peacock is gone.”

Rakan struggled, but the cold metal only pressed harder against him. It was over. He had set the trap for nothing, and now they had nothing left.

The general gestured at the daggers resting in Xayah’s fingers. “Oh, we won’t be needing those. This will just be a little… conversation, alright?”

“What do you want?” Xayah said, clearly exhausted from lack of blood and the low amounts residual magic in the area left to draw from.

“Tell us who you two are working for, and how you found the well,” the General snarled. 

“What? What well?,” Xayah said, her tired voiced tinged with astonishment. Rakan raised his eyebrows, neither of them had heard anything about a well. They were only venturing to Yondlu on the basis of Xayah’s vague suspicions. Since when was the Order of the Shadow so interested in water? 

“Enough lies,” He said. “The Order demands answers!”

“You want answers? I can get you answers! Just let her go!” Rakan said desperately, panting with exhaustion. There was a reason they had made it this long. The general needed something, from both of them. Maybe there was hope.

“We all know she’s the brains, peacock,” The man scoffed, glancing over his shoulder at Rakan for a moment before staring back at Xayah. 

Rakan tried to come up with a good comeback, but was at a loss for words. 

“No lies,” Repeated the man. “No more trickery.”

Trickery. Like the feathers daggers that he had placed in the distance, Rakan felt a small piece of him glow. 

Rakan smirked, and Xayah noticed. Trickery was what Rakan was known for, and hell, if he was going to die, then he wasn’t going without some fun. 

Swiftly, he slid his hand into his pocket, and silently pulled out the three remaining feathers just enough so that Xayah could see them glint in the moonlight.

“Answer me!” The general, said, taking another step towards Xayah.

Xayah ignored the man between them, and smiled at Rakan. She understood what was to be done.

“You want answers?” She said. “I’ve got them, they’re right behind you.”

The general, eyes tense with suspicion behind his mask, slowly pivoted to look back at Rakan. 

Before Rakan could think of a good one liner, the three feathers in his hand began to vibrate, urging him to let go. 

Whistling once again cut through the night as the the General between the two lovebirds fell to the ground, blood and flesh pouring out from a wound in his stomach. Xayah, three newly bloodied feathers now in hand, braced for battle, and Rakan, taking the General’s death as an opportunity, wriggled out from the guards, and to his heartfire.

“You were right,” He said as the soldiers began to charge at them.

“About what?”

“That was fun!” He responded.

Xayah smiled at him, her face radiating with new energy. “Don’t get too excited, we’ve still got a pack of them on our tails,” She said. 

Both of the Vastayan lovers ran away from the group of soldiers, leading them back to the clearing, and to their demise.

As the row of feathers in the distance grew closer before disappearing back into his peripheral vision, Rakan glanced at Xayah. Once they had ran through the clearing, Xayah slowed her pase and began willing what was left of the magic within her to pull the feathers back to her. 

For one, beautiful moment, pink light radiated through the forest. Then silence. 

A wave of deadly plumage raked through the masked soldiers behind them. 

Both Vastaya just stood there for a moment, and even Xayah seemed too tired to think. 

Rakan flitted closer to her before scooping her up in his arms again.

“Whew!” He said, relief finally replacing the adrenaline. 

“Now that was close,” Xayah said, looking up at Rakan and twirling one of his feathers in her fingers. 

Rakan pulled back his plumage, away from her, and loudly exclaimed “No feather for you!” 

Xayah laughed, a real laugh this time. “You owe me one. I saved you from those guys.”

“Actually, you owe me one,” Rakan said, still holding his feathers out of her reach. “It was I who gave you the idea to kill the big baddie.”

Xayah rolled her eyes like she always did. “That big baddie was a high-ranking general of the order.”

“And?”

“And…” - Xayah trailed off, - “I couldn’t’ve killed him without you,” She said, letting her head rest on Rakan’s arm. 

“Daww, how sweet,” Rakan said. “You know what they say, a couple that kills together…”

“Stays together,” Xayah finished for him.

After another brief moment of silence and relief, Rakan began walking back towards the tree trunk. “We need to get you back into town and take you to an herb doctor, first thing in the morning,” He whispered, carefully unloading Xayah back into the makeshift bed that he had made. 

“No, nah-ah! We ain’t wasting all this time traipsing through some random forest because of some cut, Rakan,” Xayah protested, pushing his hand away from her wound. 

“Cmon, babe,” Rakan whispered, motioning at her bloody leg. “It looks bad.”

Xayah grumbled, “We’re Vastaya, magical chimeras that are descended from Ionia’s first residents. A measly thornbrush, or whatever, won’t stop me.”

Rakan thought for a moment, pulling the two shurikens, from earlier, out of the bark. 

“We’ll see in the morning, Miella. Let’s get some sleep,” He said, Finally laying down beside her. As the last set of glowing red eyes dimmed in the darkness, Rakan nodded off.


	4. The Mess, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akali ends the life of an evil man, and begins a journey somewhere new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I highly suggest you read Akali's official color story, "Leaving Weh'le" before this. I'm trying something new, so this chapter starts the moment after that story ends. Not only does "Leaving Weh'le" connect with this chapter, but it also is a great little story on its own! 
> 
>  
> 
> Delete later notes: I just started school again, so I was unable to keep up with my regular posting. I'm sorry about that. Anyways, I decided to go ahead an publish the first section of Akali's chapter early, just to make sure everyone knows that I'm still alive. The rest of should come within the week. Sorry if this seems underwhelming, the next part of Akali's story should start weaving things together.

Dropping the dead guard to the ground, Akali turned to the wall behind her. Two Kunai sat wedged in the plaster facade, streaks of fresh blood splaying out from the cracks.

“Bo’lii told me you weren’t going to make a mess this time,” The tavern barkeeper said, standing over the dead body of a Puboan councilman. Smoke lazily drifted around his feet. “The man only had three guards, did you really need to do it in here?”

Akali didn’t respond, reaching up to pull out the kunai one at a time. As she plucked them out, chunks of clay and rock broke off, tumbling to the wooden-planked floor below. Without saying a word, Akali placed the two blades in her satchel, and maneuvered her kama into its sheath before strutting over the lifeless councilman, past the barkeeper. 

“You don’t tip high enough to warrant this crap,” He continued. 

Still quiet, Akali took a seat in the chair the dead man had once occupied, and scooped up his half-empty mug of ale into her hand. 

Akali took a swig, “I suppose you want me to leave.”

“Well yeah! Look at this! I’m sick of mopping up entrails every other week. This is the last time you will ever enter this establishment, do you hear me?” The barkeeper exclaimed, his voice steadily rising in pitch. 

Akali didn’t need to turn around to know that he was gesturing wildly at her mess. 

“Not even the tattoo parlor. You’re going to need to get someone else to finish that ink on your back for you,” He said, walking towards her and placing his callused hand firmly on the back of her chair. He was trying to intimidate her. It was not working, and he knew it.

“I’m not done yet,” Akali said, swiveling herself to face him and sloshing the now almost-empty mug at him. The ale bubbled and fizzed loudly, and a few droplets splashed into the keeper’s face. He sighed and took a seat next to her. “You know who that man was?” She asked. The chair creaked as she leaned back again. 

“No.”

“He sold his people, let them die at the hands of foreigners so he could get here, to this tavern,” Akali said, downing the last sip of ale. “I don’t want to hear anything about the mess. No drop of blood amounts to what he did.”

The barkeeper let out a long, long breath. She knew that he lived for the same cause, but he couldn’t afford to act like it.

“I wasn’t kidding about that tip, girl,” He said, outstretching his hand towards her. “Empty a pocket and you can forget about what I said earlier.”

Akali chuckled, and reached into her satchel with her free hand before dropping a few coins into his palm. “Deal”

The barkeeper nodded and slid the heavy pieces of metal into his apron as Akali wiped the foam on her lip with the back of her wrist. She placed the empty mug on the table, and walked towards the front of the tavern. Before she could make it to the door, she noticed Bo’lii, her tattoo artist, kneeling on his mat, looking up at her. His expression asked, ‘where are you going?’

Akali paused. 

“Anywhere but home,” She murmured. Bo’lii smiled. Soon, his smile widened into an uncharacteristically large grin.

Without warning, the mute man began laughing hysterically. She waited for him to stop but he didn’t. He just kept chuckling to himself, and staring at her. His expression was telling her something else, something she didn’t want to know. She had no clue as to how she knew what he was thinking, but as she stepped out of the tavern, and into the breeze, his words surged into her conscious nevertheless. 

“You never had a home, Kali.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, as always! 
> 
> If you're wondering when the plot of this story really gets started, worry not! The paths of our four favorite ionians well soon merge, and so will the fragmented storylines of this poor little fanfic. 
> 
> Yes I did misspell "will" on purpose, deal. I am very tired.


	5. The Mess, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After leaving the tavern, Akali finds her self running away from three strange encounters. A curse, a proposition and the spark to force her hand.

Akali took in the sight of Weh’le at sunset. A thick blanket of fog had enveloped the town. Light lazily slid through the air as the sun sunk through the horizon, giving the world an amber hue. Weh’le never made any sense. The people came in waves, bartering for safe passage to and from its many docks, and time seemed to drip slowly through the place. Taverns, hostels and markets lined the main cobblestone road down to the port. Smoke, billowing out from chimneys, filled the air with the smells of freshly roasted meat and boiled grains. Akali’s stomach growled a bit. She couldn’t tell if it was out of hunger or sickness, or both. Ale had never agreed with her, especially on an empty stomach, but she drank it anyways. It was fun, and like the inhabitants of Weh’le always said, 

‘Never let a dead man’s alcohol go to waste.’

She wished she could just stand there, right outside the tavern door, staring at the sunset for hours, but she knew that word was already spreading. Soon, there’d be yet another target inked on her back. There’s no doubt that a few Noxian-allied customers were there in the tavern to witness everything. Cowards. They didn’t even try to help their friends. The councilman she murdered was so corrupt, even his own allies refused to aid him without financial reward. 

She’d have to leave again. 

Walking away was hard; she wanted to ask Bo’lii what he meant earlier, when his words drifted into her mind, but she had the feeling he didn’t want her back. What did he know about her life? And why did he call her “Kali”? The only person who knew her by that nickname was her own mother, Mayym Jhomen Tethi. Akali didn’t need a home. Home is a chain, a constraint. She couldn’t afford that. Although, Weh’le was homy. She wouldn’t mind coming back some time, if she could manage it. 

For now, she’d have to find a way out. Some leftover coins rattled in her satchel; maybe she could buy her way into the hull of one of the rickety ships out on the docks. Earlier, while under Bo’lii’s needle, she had overheard the tavern keeper telling a group of Ionian refugees to seek out Old Guli, the lone fisherwoman, if they wanted a cheap way out of Weh’le, but didn’t need safe passage all the way to Noxus. He said that she could be found sitting behind the herb stand in the indoor market, just down the street, smoking a cigar, and singing old folk tunes. The group had been pleading with him to take a skipper to the next port, but he had refused. They were desperate, a family with two young kids. They said they were displaced by Order of the Shadow raiding their town, and their so-called “navigator” was a drunk, one-legged man with no real experience. It was clear to everyone in the Tavern that the skipper would never make it back to land in his hands, at least in one piece.

“Listen, she’s the cheapest you can get here. Take Guli up on her whatever offer she gives you,” The barkeeper had said to them. “Or brave the dark forest. Your choice. I’m not giving you anything in that state.”

They seemed convinced. The Dark Forest is never worth it. 

It didn’t take long to find Guli. Akali meandered down to the market and entered its damp threshold. Here and there, customers bartered for food, and shopkeepers kept watchful eyes over their goods. The smell of the cigar lead her right to Guli, who was exactly where the tavern keeper said she’d be. Sitting on a rotting tool, the fisherwoman sipped from a steaming cup of tea in her callused hands, and after each swallow, a puff of smoke would rise from her lips. At her feet, sat a wooden bucket full of muddy water, some of its contents slowly leaking into the floor under it. She had dark gray hair, pulled into a tight bun. She wore leather, waterproof fishing garb below her waist, but had taken off her jacket. Guli’s Herb stand had quite the selection. Big wooden bowls of spices balanced precariously on a big wooden table, giving the cigar-smelling air a tinge of bitterness. Behind Guli, shelves of jars filled with various leaves and roots towered over her tiny frame. The old woman didn’t notice Akali as she approached the stand. 

Akali cleared her throat, “Excuse me? Are you -”

The woman interrupted her. “Guli?” She said through the cigar, not looking up from her steaming mug. “That’s me. You here for herbs? Dried fish? Just so you know, Blazeleaf and Mullsprig are buy one get one free.” She gestured to two of the bowls sitting on the table, one full of a vibrant red herb, and the other containing a few bundles of twigs.

Akali shook her head, and inched a bit closer to the table between them. “I heard you could get people out of Weh’le, to another Ionian port.”

Guli smiled a bit, and gestured at her tea. “Sure, it’s a short little ride, but before we get going, one quick thing,” The fisherwoman said. Without pause, she launched her arm forward, mug in hand, and let her tea splatter onto the floor next to Akali. The boiling-hot water bubbled on the cold floorboards. Then, she took the empty mug and plunged it into the bucket at her feet. “Sea water,” She explained, as she lifted it back out, now full of murky water. Guli stopped for a moment, and finally looked up at Akali, before saying, “Blood. I need some blood.”

“Uhh.. I” Akali murmured, looking side to side as she reached for one of her kunai out of suspicion. 

But before Akali, a trained assassin, could react, Guli quickly took Akali’s wrist in her frail hand and pricked it with a pocket knife. A single drop of blood now clung to its tip. Guli tapped it into the seawater and mixed it with her finger. The old woman’s eyes widened.

“Oh,” Guli whispered. “Oh no, this is an omen…” She shook her head slightly, and her face tensed. Was it pity? Her hand quivered a bit as she set the pocket knife down on the table. “I don’t take cursed passengers. Sorry, you’ll need to find someone else and a lot more money.”

Akali gave her a confused look. Guli lowered the mug so Akali could see inside. It was all the explanation she needed. The water had turned from a murky brown to a deep, ink black. Something inside Akali yearned to feel the darkness flow through her fingers. It entranced her. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Akali asked, reaching out to touch the dark substance. 

“Ah! No!” Guli yelled, once again emptying her mug on the ground, before Akali’s fingers could reach it. “Never touch water with your own blood in it, do you understand? Now go, I need to get out of this wretched town before it’s too late.”

Guli shooed her away from the herb stand before Akali could ask any more questions. Instead of turning back to bother her more, Akali sulked out of the market and back onto the main road. The fog had grown denser, almost as dense as one of her smoke bombs. She was glad the cover camouflaged the tear rolling down her cheek as she walked into a nearby alley to collect herself. She never let stuff like this get her down, never, but something felt off. The alley was smellier than the market. Sacks of rotting food rested against stone foundations and rusted buckets of charcoal. She couldn’t stop herself from overthinking everything. Something was pulling her out of Weh’le, but she felt stuck. Ever since she left the Kinkou, Akali had rarely felt like this. She was suffocating again. The air was thick with doubt, just as it was when she was training to be the next Fist of Shadow. Was she really cursed? Or was it the nonsense ramblings of a fisherwoman who’s mind had been taken by the sea? The dark water looked real, though. The thought of blaming Shen crossed her mind.

“No,” she mumbled to herself. “He wouldn’t kill a fly if Ionia depended on it… much less curse a rogue student out of spite.”

Still, despite reassuring herself, the Kinkou tribe still lingered at the back of her mind, shrouded in darkness and doubt. 

Suddenly, a voice broke her train of thought, coming from a dark figure that had appeared a few paces away.

“You look like someone who feels rejected,” It said.

Akali quickly wiped the tear on her chin with the back of her hand. “What?” 

“You look like someone who needs out of here,” It responded.

Akali shifted her posture from hunched to confident. “Don’t get any ideas, creep. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” She said. 

The shadow shifted forward, turning towards her. It was a man, his face wrinkled with age, but his eyes seemed to glow with youth. “You look like a loose thread, tied back to something far away. Let me help you get there,” He said in a raspy tone.

Akali began stepping away from him. “I’m not tied to anything.”

The man chuckled, completely disregarding everything she said. “Follow the Scryer's Bloom up the street to the Dark Forest, the dirt trail will lead you to where you need to go.”

Akali squinted her eyes to get a better look at the man. “And where might that be?” She said.

The man smiled, and without answering her, disappeared back into the mist. 

“Plenty of questions, no answers. That’s nice,” Akali mumbled to herself. The man was suspicious, yes, but she couldn’t help but wonder what he was up to. Maybe he meant well. Or maybe the man was trying to trap her. Was he conspiring with the Noxian Empire? Maybe he wasn’t a man at all. Akali was too tired to try and figure out which option was more plausible. The thought of a free way out of Weh’le was enticing, but the risks outweighed the benefits. 

Akali exited the alley as quietly as she entered, stepping back onto the road. 

“Huh,” Akali said, tilting her head as she peered into the fog. Several blue Scryer’s Blooms glew in the distance, each one a few paces farther away than the next, creating a trail away from the ocean and to the edge of Weh’le. The old man’s words were at least half true. Before she could decide where to go next, another voice rang out from down the street, in the direction of the docks.

“Nuisance!” it said. The voice was familiar.

Akali quickly reached for her kama. Suddenly, a red, glowing flame, hovering above a metal gauntlet, pierced through the fog, revealing its wielder, and his victim. 

She sighed, and whispered, “and I thought today couldn’t get any weirder.”

The man was a Noxian mage, able to bend fire to his liking. She recognized him as the man responsible for turning the corrupt councilman, whose dead body was now resting on the floor of a very messy tavern. The mage may have just been a messenger, but he was cocky, and for good reason. He was skilled at fire magic, something rare to see in a Noxian. People called him the Red Torch, a very uncreative nickname. 

In his hand hung the limp body of a woman. Akali tried to get a closer look, leaning towards them. 

It was Guli.

“You aren’t getting away this time. You have no way out of Weh’le and we outnumber you. Put down the sword,” Red Torch said, shaking Guli like a ragdoll. The old woman’s body didn’t even twitch. She was dead. The man’s magic had burnt a hole through her stomach.

“It’s a Kama, smartass,” Akali spat, distracting him as she reached into her satchel for a smoke bomb. 

“The weapon of a magicless member of the acclaimed Kinkou. You don’t stand a chance, girl,” Red Torch bellowed before dropping Guli to the ground. The blunt sound of burnt flesh colliding with cobblestone echoed throughout Weh’le. The Mage looked down at the dead body, then back at Akali. “Need proof? Look around you,” He said, smirking as he pointed behind her. 

A crowd had gathered, but they weren’t gawkers. Other Noxian Allies, wielding various weapons --spears and axes. 

Akali let out a long breath. “Good old RT, I would have never thought you had so many… friends.” She said. “Looks like you win this time. Here’s your sword.”

Akali nonchalantly tossed the Kama over her her shoulder. Taking advantage of the brief distraction, she deftly chucked the smoke bomb at the ground beneath her. Before the Kama hit the ground behind the crowd of Noxian Allies, she had already disappeared, crouching in the dense smoke. The fog helped her maintain the cover for longer, weighing it down, but it wasn’t going to last forever. The rogue assassin let a out a little chuckle, once again remembering her odd encounter with the mysterious man in the alley. His proposition was her only way out. 

Great.

Without a second thought, she flipped backwards, vaulting towards the trail of glowing blue flowers, and over the group of huddled Noxians, picking up her dropped Kama with one swift sweep of her arm. It was easy to outrun them, but their boss was a different story. She could feel crimson flames surging just behind her heels. 

Nevertheless, she persisted, sprinting from bloom to bloom, hoping and praying the they would lead her to safety. 

The buildings around her began to thin, and the cobblestone street slowly narrowed as she reached the edge of Weh’le. The Dark Forest loomed in the distance. She felt the Red Torch’s fire radiating behind her, but she knew she could make it. Just barely.

As she neared edge of the forest, fear welled up within her. There was a reason getting out of Weh’le was so expensive. No one ever dared to brave the dark forest that surrounded it. It was said that all who traveled through it never reached the other side, and if they did, it spat them out far, far away. She didn’t have the time to wonder if those tales were true.

As she ran, the voices of the soldiers chasing her followed.

“She’s going to do it!” One said.

“It’s Suicide!” Another answered.

Both were silenced by the dark mage trailing Behind them. 

“Follow her in! We’re too close to give up!” 

The forest enveloped Akali as she crossed its boundary. She swore she could hear the sounds of whispers dancing around her ears. Dense trees replaced the sky. She could only see a few paces ahead, and the only light came from the dull red glow of the fire behind her. Suddenly, the path forked. On the right, the cobblestone continued. On the Left, the trail disintegrated into a much narrower, and much less traveled dirt path. 

Despite her doubts, Akali heeded the old man’s advice and took the dirt path, the last of the Scryer’s Bloom now behind her, trampled by a crowd of hurried noxian boots. As she continued, the leaves around her began to wilt, and the brush at her feet slowly thinned until she found herself somewhere else, somewhere corrupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> The Well (and the main conflict along with it) will be fully introduced next chapter. I just thought I'd put that out there. Not gonna lie, I'm excited.


End file.
